


Confess Your Sins

by thundergunexpress



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundergunexpress/pseuds/thundergunexpress
Summary: “He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”Spencer Reid x Reader Smut! Rekindling my love for writing about skinny white boys having sex while I’m in quarantine. Hit me with requests if you like, I need prompts!
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	Confess Your Sins

**Author's Note:**

> “He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”
> 
> Spencer Reid x Reader Smut! Rekindling my love for writing about skinny white boys having sex while I’m in quarantine. Hit me with requests if you like, I need prompts!

# Confess Your Sins

_“He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”_

Spencer Reid x Reader Smut! Rekindling my love for writing about skinny white boys having sex while I’m in quarantine. Hit me with requests if you like, I need prompts! 😈

  


You watch him from across the dimly lit room, the only source of light an amber lamp in the corner, blanketing everything its light reached with a deep orange glow. And oh, it did him favours. The sharp lines of his toned stomach are masked with a deep shadow, accentuating just how lean his body was – the career the two of you shared certainly took care of that. 

You flush at the thought of him working, the persona he inhabits when he’s faced with danger, how alpha he could be when he had hold of a gun.

A smirk creeps onto your lips as you take a step into the room, the contrast from the Spencer in your head to the Spencer on his knees in front of you was thrilling. He doesn’t look up at you, shoulders slouched as he keeps his gaze rooted firmly on the floor. He looks exhausted, his tall frame looking close to giving up and you hadn’t even started.

“Tell me what you did, Spencer.”

He grimaces, his rope knotted around his wrists tied firmly to the structure the two of you bought for this purpose exactly pulling against their harness as he struggles against the confines.

“I sinned.” He mutters, resigned and shameful. The words hang in the air, the orange glow smothering them as if he had summoned them both to hell, flames closing in on them as he speaks.

“Look at me,” your voice is steady, grounding him as he begins to float off to wherever the darkness in his head threatens to take him. His chin lifts to you without hesitation, eyes hooded as he stares up at you.

He almost looks high, you think, as your hand reaches out to brush your thumb along his lips. The way his eye lids hung half way over his eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair messy.

His mouth opens, silent until you permit him to speak. Such a good boy, you think, nodding as your eyes drink in the sheen covering his skin, salty and sticky as he became desperate.

“He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”

Your breathing shallows as you curl your fingers curl round the back of his head, hair tangling in your grip as you sharply push his head to your thigh. He lets out a grunt as his face presses to your skin, relishing in the burning sensation on his scalp. You keep him there, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him on his knees.

You remembered the first time you’d had him so completely under your control. He’d come to you, bashful and painfully nervous, requesting that you help him with a personal issue. This was fine, you worked together and there was little in the way of things you wouldn’t do to help him, insisting you’d help, and no, you wouldn’t laugh.

But then he’d told you, the words spilling from his lips a mile a minute as his eyes scanned franticly over your face as his words sunk in.

He needed a release, to physically feel that he was paying for whatever he was convinced he’d done wrong. And you kept your word, every action you’d taken since culminating in the wonder in front of you now.

Such a beautiful boy, all tied up, begging you to repent him of his sins.

“Not until you confess.”

His body heaves as he lets out a pained moan, eyes screwing shut and brow creasing as he tries to find the words to tell you why he needs to be punished, why he needs to repent.

“I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t.” he pleads with you to understand, not to make him say it. You almost recoil as you realise why he’s punishing himself. The two of you had returned from a case trip that morning, and he’d been quiet since they landed the plane, but you didn’t realise he’d been hit by it so heavily. It wasn’t his fault, the whole team failing to stop an unsub before he claimed one last victim, but that didn’t matter to him. You’d ease his pain afterwards, understanding that this is what he needed right now, despite the guilt not being solely his to bear. He needed to feel like he’d suffered for his mistakes

“18 hits,” you tell him flatly as you turn to the wall, fingers dancing over the cool leather tassles hanging there. You grab one, quickly return to his side, bending at the knees to lower yourself to his level. Bringing your lips to his ear, you feel him shudder as you drag the tassles of your chosen whip over his thighs, “Three sets of six,” you explain, “the touch of the devil.”

You don’t see his reaction, already rising to your feet as you step behind him. His upper half is completely bare, his back exposed and curving as he writhes where he’s held.

Your hand pulls back, wrist snapping as the smack of the leather on his skin pierces the air. He remains silent, head still hung as he offered himself to you, trusting you to make this better for him.

You count in your head as you bring it down on the delicate skin from his back to his behind, time after time, relishing in the whimpers that begin to escape his lips around the tenth smack. Call it the sadist in you, but his pain, the raw unadulterated pool of hatred inside of him, you thrived on it. You had seen the things he had seen, but you couldn’t begin to relate to what he had been through. To most, trauma would hinder the ability to submit to another human, to allow yourself to be in the position he was. He fed on it, allowing it to fuel his desire to be free from his own head, to escape the nightmares and, as the moment would have it, relieve himself from the sins he burdens himself with.

 _Sixteen_. His body warps as he is hit, seeking relief from the striking pain.

 _Seventeen_. His knuckles white as he balls them into fists where his wrist meets the rope.

 _Eighteen_. His hair covers his eyes as his teeth clench. His cheeks are wet with tears you didn’t hear him express, breathing in sharply as he catches his breath.

The rooms falls silent, his chest heaving. It feels hotter in the room than it actually is, and you don’t move despite the air feeling so thick you could choke. It was difficult seeing Spencer like this, despite the fact that he literally asked for it. He looks so weak and vulnerable and you just want to hold him, loosen the binds around his wrists and pull him into you.

You’ve spent a long time trying to keep him afloat, trying to take some of his demons away from him by simply loving him, and never leaving him. But he needs more than that and you can finally accept that this is something that only you can do for him.

Snapping from your lapse of concentration, you walk in front of him, looking down at the top of his head.

“Look at me, Spencer.”

His eyes meet yours and they’re almost completely black. He looks demonic, and it turns you on more than it probably should, the fantasy of punishing the sinner was getting you _soaking_. You bring your hand to your front, fingers tracing along the lace of your panties, a soft moan falling from your lips at the slight friction over your clit. Your crotch is level with his eyes and he’s watching intently.

He’s hard, the head of his cock red an angry shade of red as he pants below you. He’s been leaking pre cum, no doubt had been since the first time the whip met his skin.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you taunt, fingers rubbing against yourself slowly, showing him what he wanted, but couldn’t have. Not until he could show you that he was deserving.

“Yes,” he breathes, hips pushing forward in a desperate attempt to find friction somewhere.

“You came to me today looking for forgiveness,” your fingers hook in the waistband of your panties as you pull them down your thighs, “looking to repent for your sins,” you kick the black garment away once they were round your ankles, not bothering to look where they landed.

“Please, I-”, he starts, and you step forward, just close enough that if he leant forward he would get what’s he wants, but he doesn’t. He waits pliant and ready for you to give him permission, such a good boy, so careful to do as he’s told.

“Show me that you’re worthy,” your voice wavers as his neck cranes up to you so close you can feel his hot breath on you, “you can touch.” Barely a second passes between you opening you mouth to speak and his tongue finding your clit.

He’s not gentle about it, pushing his face into you as he begins to suck, and _fuck_. The faint taste of blood begins to spread in your mouth as you realise you bit your lip a little too hard and it only turns you on more, it’s dangerous and sinister. It’s too much, but it’s _so_ good. Muffled moans escape from him as he eagerly pushes his face further into you, tongue hardening as he pushes it into you, his face disappearing from your vision almost entirely as he stretches to reach between your legs.

His nose bumps against your clit, and you hiss at how dangerously close you come to losing it. You want him inside you when you came, the burn as you stretch around him. You pull him away from you, fingers tugging on his hair as he looks up, disappointed. His expression soon lifts when he sees you reach to loosen the binds on his wrists, working the knots to free him from the constraints he was held under.

“Up,” You instruct, and he obeys, rising to his feet. “look at you,” your voice is soft as you run a thumb over his chin, “you’re filthy.”

He hums, pushing his face into your hand, still slick with your juices. He whimpers as you lean towards him, tongue running a firm trail across the corner of his mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. 

“I taste good on you,” you whisper, pushing your lips against his. Immediately his tongue is pushing into your mouth, kissing you to show you how _badly_ he needed it. You’re barely even kissing, mouths just pressing together as your tongues swirl amongst your heavy breaths.

You pull yourself away from him, turning towards the bed, eyes squeezing shut as you try to steady your erratic breathing. Turning back to look once you reach the bed as composed as you could be, you curl your finger beconing him towards you. He only takes a second to reach you, his breath hitching as your hands press into his chest, pushing him flat onto the bed. Climbing above him, you throb as you feel how hard he still was under you, your head spinning as you settle your wet center directly above him.

He’s staring at you, eyes wide in awe as he takes in the sight of you and it’s a _rush_. Here he is, this beautiful, intelligent, complicated human, allowing you to take _everything_ from him and then thanking you for the pleasure. You want to push his hands below him and make him watch while you ride him, you want to watch his face screw up as he struggles to keep his hips still when you slow to a torturous pace, grinding your hips dangerously slowly as you watch him fall apart, but not today. Staying in hotel rooms surrounded by your co-workers didn’t allow for them to really play.

You raise yourself up, reaching down and wrapping your hand around him, stroking him slowly before lining yourself up and sinking down onto him. His eyes flutter shut, his mouth falling open but no sound coming from him as he basks in the first few moments of being inside you. He’s sweaty and wrecked, his damp hair falling in curls around the sharp contours of his face, random strands stuck across his cheeks and forehead as he writhed in place beneath you. He was right, it was absolutely _sinful_.

It’s like the breath has been knocked out of you when you finally pull up and drop back down onto him, you’re so fucking full, he’s so big, he’s- oh _fuck_.

Suddenly, his hips snap up, his arms wrapping around your back as he pulls you tight to his chest before you even had a chance to properly move.

“Spencer,” you mean to sound assertive, but it comes out a pathetic whimper. He doesn’t respond, instead snapping his hips up into you and holding it there. It’s _so_ much deeper than before, it feels as though you’re choking as you drop your head into his neck, the relief of him pulling out barely registering as he slams his hips back up into you so fast your body shakes.

It’s almost animalistic the way he’s fucking you, so desperate and filthy and messy and relentless. It won’t take long until he pushes you over the edge, your clit is rubbing against his stomach from the angle he’s holding you to him, and you feel the air leaving your lungs as your body begins to tense up, racing towards the edge.

“Spencer, baby, please-” it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone above him, how quickly he’s got you begging him for release, the same way he had been on his knees for you not ten minutes earlier.

“I’m-” you manage to gasp, your finger nails digging crescents into the skin on his neck as your body begins to shake, your legs shaking as your vision whites. Your orgasm reaches every inch of you as your body like waves as you fall limp onto him, your legs like jelly.

It’s hard to regain a sense of reality, your body dead weight above him, his hips not relenting as he chases his own orgasm. His legs must feel like they’re on fire, you think, realising quickly that the burning sensation he feels is likely only pushing him closer to his own release. He loves how it hurts.

_Only true pain can bring true pleasure._

  


He says it all the time, and you can almost hear his voice as the saying pops into your head. It’s the encouragement you need, using what little energy your body has left to reach your hand up and press it against his throat.

His eyes widen, meeting yours as you press harder, cutting off his air supply. It’s all it takes, because almost immediately his thrusts falter, eyes locked with yours, choked moans falling from his lips as he pushes deep inside of you, a familiar warmth spreading within you as he comes.

You stay as you are for a minute, your grip relaxing over his throat as you rest, letting your breathing calm down as he enjoys every quickly disappearing wave of pleasure. Pulling yourself up, you whimper as his softening cock slides from you, the loss sudden and apparent as you slump over onto your back beside him.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come,” your voice is hushed and cheeky as if the bubble surrounding your bodies would shatter should you speak any louder.

He groans, his hand patting across the bed sheets until it came in contact with yours, interlocking his fingers with yours between your spent bodies.

“I couldn’t help it,” he whispers back, and you can _hear_ the smirk on his lips as he adds, “I’m a slave to sin. I warned you.”

His thumb traces circles on your palm, your eyes falling shut as you relax into the bed, sleep pulling you away from consciousness.

“I’m counting on it.”


End file.
